


Balancing Acts

by lamardeuse



Series: Getting To Know You [16]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series to accompany Season Two of SGA. Part Sixteen: Coup d'Etat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balancing Acts

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: rating refers to overall series rating. Individual parts may carry a lower rating.

_act one  
_

_    
 _

_  
_“Nnnnggrrhhh,” Rodney said.

John leaned down and placed his mouth against Rodney’s ear.  “Told you I was good at this.”

Rodney released another contented gust of sound.  “Yes, you certainly a-aaah!  God!  Do that again!”

John complied.  “Like that?”

“Oh.  Yes.  Th-thank you,” Rodney gasped, practically squirming in delight.

“I kind of like you like this, all polite and…Canadian.” 

Rodney felt him press in again and groaned long and low.  “Christ, shut up, don’t stop, keep – mmmm – ”

John didn’t stop, and after a couple of solid minutes of sheer bliss in which Rodney’s spine may have melted, John said, “I’m going to try touching it.  Don’t tense up, or it’ll hurt.  Just relax.”

And really, did John not know Rodney at _all_, because a statement like that pretty much guaranteed that he was going to immediately turn into one big knot.  Rodney felt John’s fingers brush over the sensitive area –

“Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

“_Relax_, I said.”

“In case it’s escaped your notice, I really suck at following – oooh.”

“Was that a good ‘oooh’ or a bad ‘oooh’?”

“It’s an ‘I don’t know oooh’,” Rodney huffed impatiently.  “Well?  What are you waiting for?”

“So much for polite,” John muttered.  His fingers stroked again, and something inside Rodney actually _fluttered_.  Rodney heard a cry tear out of his throat and rise to the surface, breaking over them both.

“I’m going to guess that worked,” John breathed.  “God, Rodney.”

“Please,” Rodney begged, “please,” and John resumed his caresses, talented fingers pressing and retreating, pressing and retreating, and it was clear that Rodney had never known what pleasure was before this, because he was _drowning _in it, and –

And then John shifted and straightened, his hands deserting Rodney’s body abruptly.  “Sheppard here.”

Rodney buried his face in the pillow and groaned; John slapped him on the ass to quiet him.  “Dammit.  Okay, you alert Ronon and Teyla, I’ll contact McKay.  Tell them we’re scrambling ASAP.”  Another shift and John was off the bed, his withdrawal so swift that Rodney felt chilled. 

“What is it?”

“Doctor Lindsay just dialed in.  There was an incident with Lorne’s team.  They’re going to need some support.”

Rodney sighed and shoved himself painfully up off the bed.  There were other teams that were actually on duty at the moment, but Rodney knew well that John’s sense of responsibility meant his team was on call whenever there was serious trouble.  And normally he really didn’t have a problem with that, but Jesus, he’d made the mistake of falling asleep in John’s bed last night and his back was _killing _him.  And half a massage, no matter how mind-blowingly good it was, was not sufficient.

He watched John finish zipping up his uniform pants, then reach for his dogtags and sling them around his neck. 

“You want to sit this one out?” John asked. 

Rodney hesitated, momentarily tempted, then shook his head.  “No,” he murmured, feeling his lumbar vertebrae grind together as he stood.  “I’m part of this team, right?” 

“Yes, you are,” John said warmly, and damned if Rodney’s back didn’t feel a little less sore at that.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
_act two_

    
 

  
Rodney zipped up his vest as he walked down the hall with John toward the gate room – and certain messy death at the hands of the Genii.  “Have I mentioned recently that I think this is a seriously bad idea?”

“If by ‘recently’ you mean in the last three minutes, then no,” John drawled.  “Your last announcement was four minutes ago.”

“I’m still not quite clear on how this decision was made.”

“Elizabeth made it.  I agreed.  That’s the way it usually goes, Rodney.”  Rodney glanced at John’s profile and noticed there was a miniscule twitch in his jaw.

Rodney held up a finger.  “That’s _not _usually the way it goes.  Usually, yes, Elizabeth makes the final decision, but there are various experts involved in the process.”

“When it comes to diplomatic negotiations, Elizabeth _is _the expert.” 

“Yes, but—”

John sighed.  “Rodney.  What is this all about?”

Rodney felt his own jaw tightening.  “I just don’t know why we’re trying to romance a group of people who have already proven themselves to be less than trustworthy.  If Radim wants to have his little revolution in exchange for a ZPM, fine, but why are we trying to play both ends against the middle?”

“We’re trying to gather more intel on the situation,” John told him.  “And Elizabeth doesn’t want to damage what little credibility we’ve gained with Cowan.” 

“Right, _Cowan_,” Rodney said, rolling his eyes.  “Our good buddy Cowan.”

“He helped save our necks a few months ago.  That entitles him—”

“Oh, now we’re getting to it,” Rodney sighed.  “Whenever Americans try to interpret Machiavelli, they inevitably slip on the banana peel of ‘fair play’.  I’m going to land flat on my ass in a Genii jail cell because you and Elizabeth can’t stop being the guys in the white hats.”

“For Christ’s sake, Rodney,” John snapped, coming to a stop.  “Do you want me to say this is risky?  It is.  If you don’t want to do it, just say so and I can take you off the mission.”

Rodney’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times.  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go; he’d been counting on another few minutes of quality arguing.  Feeling as though his legs had been cut out from under him, he stammered,  “But I-I’m supposed to go with you, aren’t I?”

John shook his head.  “I’m sure Elizabeth wouldn’t force you to go if you have strong philosophical objections to –”

Rodney’s stomach roiled.  “I’m going,” he said lowly.  “I’m part of this team.  At least that’s what I’ve been told.”  And without looking back, he started down the hall again toward the gate room.

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
_act three_

    
 

  
“There’s no reason for you to go,” John told him, his own voice perfectly calm.  Rodney wanted so much to smack him at that moment it frightened him, and not only because John could hit him a lot harder.

“Ronon and Teyla aren’t back yet,” Rodney said, shaking his head.  “I should be there.”

John raised an eyebrow at him as Rodney grabbed a hand stunner from the rack and checked its charge.  “You should be there why, exactly?”

Rodney clamped his jaw around the words that tried to escape, because they couldn’t be said when you were in the middle of a weapons storeroom within earshot of two burly Marines.  _Because I don’t trust these guys with your life the way I do Ronon and Teyla.  Because I don’t want to be the weeping bride left waving from the dock as you sail off to war._  “Because when we get our hands on that ZPM, somebody has to know what to do with it,” he snapped. 

“I _know _what to do with it," John retorted testily.  "Pick the damned thing up and carry it back to you.”

Finally satisfied with the condition of the stunner, Rodney stuck it in its holster attached to the front of his vest.  “I’ll carry.  You shoot.  Let’s stick to what we both do best.”

When John didn’t respond right away, Rodney looked up and sucked in a breath.  John was staring at him with that intense gaze he usually only reserved for times when they were alone and he thought that Rodney wasn’t paying attention.  Every muscle in his body tensed, making his back twinge unpleasantly.  He needed to stay still, to stay calm, because if one of the grunts looked their way they would know everything from that naked admission in John’s eyes.  And so he did, protecting John for that small stretch of time when he couldn’t – or wouldn’t – protect himself.

Finally, John’s gaze grew shuttered again, and Rodney resumed breathing.  “Okay,” John murmured, slipping his P-90’s strap over his head, “that sounds fair.”

    
    
    
    
 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

    
    
    
    
 

  
_curtain call_

    
 

  
“Nnnnggrrhhh,” Rodney said again.

John pressed a little harder, and Rodney’s fingers scrabbled at the sheets, seeking purchase.  “Okay?” John asked softly, breath stirring the hair at Rodney’s temple.

“Yeah, yeah, more than okay, seriously, perfectly, okay,” Rodney babbled.  John’s fingers slid and flexed, digging into the aching muscles of his back, and the stream of words trailed off into an incoherent moan.

John nipped at his earlobe.  “Wait.  I’m gonna try something.”

Rodney’s hands clenched into fists.  “You have to quit warning me, because – oh, _fuck_, oh – ”  It was possible he produced a mewling noise right then, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Good?” John asked.  Unable to form English words, Rodney resorted to nodding frantically into the pillow as John's fingers worked their magic.  After a few minutes he felt John’s body press against his, shifting as he raised up and off him, finally settling between his spread legs. 

And then Rodney was startled to feel the warm brush of John’s mouth as a kiss was pressed to his ass.  He froze, waiting for what would come next.

“Sorry,” John whispered, so low Rodney could barely hear him. 

“What for?” Rodney asked, just as quietly.

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your ass.”

Rodney twisted his head around to stare at John, who raised his eyebrows.

“For landing it in a Genii jail cell.”

Rodney couldn’t resist the smirk.  “Don’t forget nearly getting it incinerated in a nuclear explosion,” he added primly.

John leaned down and kissed the other cheek, and Rodney shivered.  “Yeah, that too.”

“Well, speaking for my ass, it’s not your fault the Genii could have out-Machiavellied Machiavelli,” Rodney allowed, feeling magnanimous because they _could _have died but they hadn’t, and Rodney’s back had never felt better and John’s hands were gifts from the gods and really, you could dwell on the negative or you could –

John took one finger, still slick with massage oil, and dipped it into Rodney’s cleft.  Rodney groaned, as much from the unguarded look on John’s face as the sensation.

“So what’s your ass saying now?” John drawled, pressing in deeper.

Rodney rested his head on his folded arms and closed his eyes.  “It’s decided to let you do the talking for a change,” he replied, pushing his hips up into John’s knowing touch.

**Author's Note:**

> First published January 2006.


End file.
